A Flight of Ravens

by John Conroe

  There was no response from the shadows of the vehicle other than a soft huffing every so often and the quiet whispers of Welton as he told his father about the inconsequential things of family life that Shadows missed when on mission.

  We passed the lesser families and then the middle-ranked families and finally came to the dwellings of those names that had been part of the kingdom for centuries. Bonlee, Armstrong, Kardian, Sampson, Grantell, and DelaCrotia.

  It wasn’t until we were right between the Grantells’ in-town mansion and my own family’s Haven base of operations that Ash suddenly stuck his nose out the window and breathed deep.

  “Something?” I asked him.

  He ignored me, instead closing his eyes and sniffing hard.

  “Leave him be,” Jella said. “Stop the wagon and let him process. Trailing by scent is a skill, even if you have the nose for it. It’s extraordinarily difficult to parse mixed scents.”

  Ash smelled and sniffed for a solid three minutes before finally grunting in frustration.

  “It’s here, right?” I asked, getting a growl of acknowledgement.

  “Can you tell which house?” I asked. The wind was coming from behind the two High Family homes, the hard breeze swirling in our faces.

  He snarled and sank back into the dark.

  “This wind is really tough,” Jella said. “A scent tracker doesn’t follow body odor so much as they follow the skin dust that sloughs off all people and animals. All this swirling and blowing makes that impossible. It would seem you’ve narrowed your search down to two places. The killer could be a family member or a servant of either of these two families—one of them being yours.”

  “I can work with that,” I said. “Let’s call it a night.” I had grown up knowing the Grantells, and they would do anything for power—as would my own family.

  Chapter 17

  We dropped Fontina off at the castle gates to find her way to her home. Several of my people were waiting to watch her and make sure she didn’t attempt to follow us. A few other Shadows kept watch on our backtrail for other Ravens or potential observers. Additionally, I sent Drew to the castle with a complete report on our findings for Brona.

  Our two-carriage travel train pulled into a warehouse, the kind with doors on the front and back to make unloading and loading easier. They slowed down to navigate the space but moved right on through and out the other end, leaving Ash, Welton, and myself behind. We waited and watched for twenty minutes in the shadows of the building before we slipped out a side door and moved quietly through the streets—a man, a boy, and a cloaked giant. It took twice as long as it should have to reach the safe house, but the two old spies knew how important tradecraft was and the boy needed the education.

  “Can I stay with Uncle Ash?” Welton asked when we were back on neighborhood streets, nearing the safe house. Ash growled at him, but the boy kept his eyes on me.

  “Your mother expects you home and if I’m not mistaken, she’s currently staying overnight with Sissa, who is already suspicious about what’s going on. Until I can convince your stubborn uncle to reveal himself to her, it isn’t fair to let her worry about her youngest nephew.”

  Ash snarled when I mentioned his reluctance regarding Sissa, showing he was still fearful of her response. In my heart, I couldn’t blame him. If our positions were reversed, I would be terrified to ever let Brona catch a glimpse of me. Although, to be fair, I knew my beautiful princess had never been influenced by the attractiveness of others. She saw past outer appearances and straight to the person beneath the skin. Growing up in the court of the king had taught her that beauty was meaningless, except as a weapon to be wielded as well as defended against.

  Still, to most people, outward appearances mattered. I didn’t believe Sissa to be that petty, but her husband had been transformed into a fur-covered, red-eyed monster. How she reacted was impossible to predict. At least Welton hadn’t so much as flinched. He was just ecstatic to have his uncle alive, in any form at all. He held the massive, clawed paw like it was nothing out of the ordinary. Ash had always been close with Paddy’s boys and Welton had resigned himself to the loss of his father. Ash was a gift.

  “Tell you what: You can stay with him till we get him resettled, then I’ll walk you to your home.”

  “I can get there myself,” he said, drawing upright. His uncle snarled at him, the kind of thing I’d heard from woldlings about to fight. Welton just put his head down and sighed. “Alright. Deal.”

  Ash turned to me and gave me a much harsher snarl. “Of course. With my life,” I said, as the message was clearly a warning to guard the boy.

  We skulked through the streets, avoiding other pedestrians except to receive signals from our own watchers as we moved through Shadow territory. When we came to the house under which Ash had been jailed, we doubled back to verify we had no tails. Having a soldier who could scent intruders like a wolf made it extra easy. Honestly, we didn’t believe that we were under surveillance in our own territory, but Welton needed the training and the reinforcement of caution.

  Inside the house, Ash turned toward the cellar door, but I stopped him. “Upstairs is more comfortable. I had an extra big bed put in,” I said.

  He growled, giving me a side-eye. “First, no reason for you to be uncomfortable. Second, if the Ravens ever figure out this location, I want you above ground and ready to escape.”

  He grunted and it sounded curious. “Not sure what that one means,” I said.

  “I think he wonders if you’re disobeying orders,” Welton said.

  Ash grunted an affirmative. “How the hell did you figure that one out?” I asked the boy, who just shrugged. “Remind me to keep you handy when we continue the debrief. You seem to understand him best.”

  The boy puffed up and smiled, first at me and then up at the fearsome visage of his monstrous relative. “Come on, Uncle Ash. Let’s find your room,” he said, tugging him toward the stairs.

  I let them go ahead while I pulled a ham from the cold food locker and added a loaf of bread. After a second’s thought, I grabbed a second loaf and then took it all upstairs.

  Ash was seated on the giant bedframe our guys had thrown together for him, cautiously testing if it could hold his bulk. Welton was chatting away like a magpie. Ash looked done in and I saw a couple of winces of pain when Welton wasn’t looking.

  “Here’s some snacking food. And a bundle of willow bark,” I said, holding up both hands when he lifted his head and pinned me with red eyes. “Unaltered willow bark,” I said, taking a piece and shoving it in my mouth to chew. The bitter taste ran down my throat, but I kept my expression clear. He watched me closely, leaning forward to sniff my face, then leaned back and sniffed the bark. Finally, he grunted and put the whole wad of bark in his toothy maw. Not sure if he believed me or just thought getting drugged again might not be so bad. Sorry to disappoint, old friend, but it was just bark.

  “There’s water here,” Welton said, shaking the pitcher one of our people had left on the side table.

  Ash turned to me and fixed both eyes on me and I had a flash of understanding. From a small cupboard, I pulled a stout little bottle. “Whiskey.”

  His paw shot out and clamped over the neck of the bottle. “Yeah, willow tastes like shit. All right; I have to get this lad to Treena or she’ll likely take a knife to me.”

  He was already tipping the bottle into his mouth, half the liquor pouring out and down his chest but by the way his neck was bobbing, at least some made it inside. He grunted, put the now empty bottle down, and made another fast motion, both paws circling Welton in a flash. Then he went deliberately very slow and gentle as he pulled the boy into a hug.

  “Uncle Ash!” Welton protested. “I’m gonna smell like whiskey,” he said, wiping off the side of his cheek. “Momma will murder me.”

  I pulled a kerchief and wiped the liquor off, then splashed some water from the pitcher on the cloth and scrubbed his boozy cheek. “All better. Just tell her you go
t splashed at the bar. She’ll smell your breath and believe you.”

  Both woldling and boy looked at me with surprise and curiously similar looks of admiration. “Not my first tournament, gentlemen. Now, let’s get a move on.”

  Welton hugged his uncle fiercely, which was an odd sight. The towering woldling, clawed hands carefully patting the small boy who squeezed the woolly monster with all his might. Finally, the lad’s muscles gave out and he released Ash. “Okay, I’m going home to guard Momma and Auntie Sissa,” he said, swiping his sleeve across his face. “You sleep good, alright?”

  Ash grunted, holding out one giant hand, palm up. Welton put his own hand atop it, palm down. They held like that for moment and then after about three seconds, Welton’s hand went up in as big an arc as he could make it and Ash’s went down.

  The boy was quiet as we walked through the snow-dusted streets of Haven. A few people were out and about but they were locals who I recognized immediately.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “What’s going to happen?”

  “With what?”

  “Uncle Ash.”

  “I don’t know. All I know is a very short time ago, I was convinced he was dead. He isn’t. He’s alive and safe. I have found, Welton, that in life and especially in this line of work, which you do not need to follow, by the way, that we can only answer a few of our questions and control only some of our environment. The rest we have to handle as it comes. Having your uncle home, whether missing a leg, an eye, half his mind, or in his current form, is better than not having him at all. From here on, we’ll just have to handle what comes.”

  He went quiet, thinking hard as we covered the short distance to his aunt’s home. When we got there, he rapped on the door. “Momma, it’s me.”

  The door whisked open, revealing Treena Upton. Dark-haired like her boys and rather short, but with very bright blue eyes. Behind her, one hand holding her very pregnant belly, was Sissa Newberry. Taller than average, she was a good height for her husband. Her black hair was short and straight, her skin almost a caffe color that spoke to ancestors from the south, and her eyes were a color of brown so light that they appeared to be copper. She’s a very striking woman by most standard, but her strength is not just in her arms but more in her heart.

  Treena grabbed her son in a tight hug that showed where Welton had learned his own method of embracing. She kissed his head and lifted her eyes to mine, the relief in them. “We were starting to worry.”

  “Busy night, Treena, but Welton was great.”

  Sissa’s eyes were locked on me, her gaze metal hard. Uh-oh. Looked like I was in for it.

  “Welton, get some sleep. I need to talk to your aunt,” I said. His mother pulled him deeper into the house, leaving me with Sissa.

  She turned and watched them go and I suddenly felt eyes watching us. I started to tense, but these eyes had a familiar feel. The watcher was outside, high up, probably roof level—but not, or so it felt, hostile. Ahh.

  Sissa turned back and fixed me in her gaze like Soshi sighting a target.

  “What the hell is going on? Why would you ask me for a bunch of stuff, why was Jella on my roof, and why is my nephew out at all hours of the night?”

  I sighed, shoving a hand through my hair. Then inspiration struck. I stepped backward two steps and waved her to follow me. Her glare deepened but she took the same two steps I had. We were now exposed to the night, me almost in the street and Sissa just outside her door, standing in the light spilling from inside. Baiting my trap.

  “I want to tell you,” I said, raising my voice deliberately. “But I am held to another’s confidence. This other is… stupidly stubborn. Gravel-headed is the term that you would use, I believe.”

  Her face changed, shock flooding her features. “You can’t mean…”

  “I can’t say. He’s… this other is worried about appearances,” I said, tilting my head to the right to listen. A soft scraping sound from above, as of hard claw on stone. Many buildings in Haven are roofed with slate shingles, the stone being one of the kingdom’s principal exports.

  Sissa heard it too and noted my head angle. She snapped around and stared up at the roof of the house next door—and gasped.

  I looked quickly, catching just a glimpse of a furry form slipping away. When I turned back to her, she was alarmed but watching me.

  “That was a woldling!”

  “That wasn’t exactly what it appeared to be. That was a gravel-headed thing which won’t let me speak to you about it,” I said. I couldn’t count how many times I had heard her call her husband gravel head.

  Her hand rose to her mouth as understanding hit. “How?”

  “We don’t know. Something new… Something meant to terrify us. But something that didn’t go exactly as the Paul planned. Not at all.”

  “He’s still him?”

  “Inside? Yes. For how long? No idea. He was supposed to stay hidden, at his own insistence, while I brought Welton home, but curiosity killed that cat.”

  Her strong face crumpled, and her eyes glimmered with tears. I rushed in to fill the gap. “He is terrified of what you’ll think—that you’ll reject him.”

  The crumpling stopped and the wet eyes went a little hard. “Oh really? And Welton knows?”

  “Both boys know. Both have had a chance to see and talk to him, but Welton the most. Sissa, your brother didn’t make it—only Ash.”

  “So this is why I donated my second-best scarf and two of my healing poultices.”

  “Yup. We drugged the poultices so we could get a hold of him. Your scent overwhelmed all of his professional caution. He has shown he still has his RRS abilities by leading Jella on a merry chase around the city, then when we tracked him here, his damned uncle almost killed him and he escaped. But we found him again and used the drugs to catch him. He woke up and became somewhat reasonable. He helped us with a case today, with Welton at his side. But he’s terrified of how you’ll respond. I pushed and pushed, but he’s an idiot. Then he gave himself away just now and there you have it.”

  She studied me, her mind clearly going like a runaway horse. The unshed tears were wiped away and she seemed of two emotions—a joyous relief mixed with a hurt anger.

  “He’s always been a little worried you were out of his league.”

  “We’re all out of all of your leagues,” she said, putting a hand on her hip. “But that’s what we have to work with. I’m mad at you. Unbelievably grateful that you caught him and kept him alive, but I’m still mad.”

  “Valid,” I said.

  “Can Welton find where he is tomorrow?”

  “Ash duty is Welton’s only job right now.”

  “Okay then. Good night, Savid.”

  “Goodnight, Sissa Newberry,” I said. She smiled at her last name, nodded, and closed the door. I listened for the sound of the bolt dropping into its brackets before I headed home to the Knife and Needle. Maybe tonight I could get four or five whole hours of sleep.

  Chapter 18

  I actually got a full seven hours of sleep, with nothing waking me and not a single dream that I could recall. Dressed and armed, I headed downstairs, finding my inn already busy.

  “Well, there he is,” Brin said, coming out of the kitchen. “A message came by courier for you a half hour ago. From the castle. It’s in your office. Tina, bring Savid some food and caffe, would you now?” she asked as one of our other servers came out of the dining room with a tray.

  “Of course,” Tina said with a quick smile and without slowing down on her way to the kitchen.

  Tina was relatively new to us—just a year or so, but she was Drew’s younger sister. She had witnessed our formal graduation from Despair, just a little girl standing alongside her parents and grandmother as the Squadron commander had welcomed us to the RRS and issued our placement orders.

  I headed into my office and found a packet secured with wax and stamped with the castle’s seal. It was dated for today.

  Capta
in Savid DelaCrotia,

  You are henceforth summoned to attend his Royal Majesty, King Helat Warcan at the end of this morning’s court session.

  Calpin Torqness,

  Seneschal of Havensheart Castle

  That was it. Odd. I had never been summoned by Cal before. Requests for my presence had always been either overt or covert messages from Brona, or on several occasions, direct visits by royal guardsmen on behalf of the king. This was extremely unusual and made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up a little.

  The king’s first court session of the day began at the tenth hour and ended by noon. I had a notion of waking to nine bells rung across the city, several hours past my normal time.

  The only truly accurate clock in Haven was the church’s mechanical clock in the bell tower of the cathedral. Only the church could be trusted with a device that was clearly proscribed technology, and only because monks from the Brotherhood of the Apostle kept close watch over it. The order, which consisted of perhaps seventy to eighty individuals, only existed to operate, regulate, and continually bless the six clocks that were distributed around Montshire.

  The rest of us made do with sundials and sand clocks, constantly recalibrating them to the chimes of the church.

  Tina pushed open my door, a plate of food in one hand and a cup of steaming caffe in the other.

  “Has the tenth bell rung yet?” I asked.

  “Not yet, but soon,” she said, glancing at my desktop where the message laid open. “You likely have a quarter hour yet.”

  “Thank you, Tina. Would you ask whichever lad is on duty to saddle Tipton?”

  “I will at that,” she agreed with a nod.

  Breakfast consisted of oatmeal sweetened with maple syrup and a pat of melting butter, paired with an autumn apple that had not yet begun to wrinkle. I shoveled in the thick porridge, gulped down the caffe, and took the apple with me.

  Stopping by my rooms, I pulled out a better-quality cloak of dark gray trimmed with black fisher fur and changed my brown wool shirt for a deep blue tunic of a more formal nature. My boots were muddy and scuffed so I took several minutes to brush them into a semblance of cleanliness. The pants I had selected for the day were of good quality and clean, so they would have to do. My time was short; the missive said end of session, but a king as mercurial as Helat might end it early.